


Cheaters

by Frostfire



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-02
Updated: 2007-06-02
Packaged: 2018-10-03 09:52:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10241969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frostfire/pseuds/Frostfire
Summary: Set during Witness, after the scene of filial love and gratitude in Ezra's room. Nathan and Ezra have a moment.





	

Nathan’s just left Billy with Mrs. Travis when he sees Ezra walking across the street, looking riled up. He can’t help a grin.

“Evening, Ezra,” he says.

“Evening, Mister Jackson,” says Ezra, stiff and formal as he ever gets.

Probably means he’s up to something. Course, if Ezra’s _breathing_ , he’s probably up to something. Nathan’s surprised he hasn’t found a way to capitalize on Mrs. Travis’ and Billy’s troubles. It’d be just like him, too.

Though he’s had other things to worry about, lately. “How’s your mother?” Nathan always enjoys seeing Ezra taken down a peg or two. Maybe someday he’ll have learned enough lessons to make him realize that lying and cheating are just plain wrong.

Nathan’s not holding his breath, though. And given the mother in question, well, Nathan’s decided that Ezra comes by it honestly, at least.

“My mother,” says Ezra heatedly, “is taking advantage of opportunities as wholeheartedly as circumstances will allow, which should have come as no surprise to me. I don’t know _what_ I was thinking.” He walks a little faster.

Nathan steps up his own pace. “What?” he says, half-laughing.

“Nothing, Mister Jackson. My mother is fine. She’s always fine, in point of fact, so you should feel no need to enquire after her health in the future. She has never had one bit of trouble looking after her own interests.”

And now Nathan’s starting to frown—it’s Ezra’s fancy talking, Ezra’s Southern accent, but it sure ain’t Ezra’s wheeling and dealing coming out of that mouth. In fact, that mouth is decidedly twisted, and that tone of voice sure was a little thin and high, and those eyes are blinking too fast.

Nathan speeds up a little more, catches Ezra’s arm. “Ezra—”

Ezra spins around so fast, Nathan hardly sees it. “I will thank you,” he says, and now his voice has gone cold, “to remove your hand from my person, Mister Jackson.”

Nathan drops that arm like it’s a hot potato, holding both his hands up, free and empty. “I’m sorry,” he says carefully. “Ezra, are _you_ okay?”

“I am just fine, Mister Jackson,” says Ezra precisely.

Right. Stupid to ask a question when you already know the answer. Nathan remembers one hot summer day, Ezra white to the lips and swearing that his arm was just bruised, not taking help even when it was freely offered.

One thing about cheaters, they always think everyone else is out to cheat them, too. Never occurs to them that someone might just want to do people a good turn.

Nathan had liked Ezra a lot less back then, and that hadn’t stopped him from popping the shoulder back in. Now—well, he still doesn’t like him very much, but there’s something wrong with him. And Nathan’s committed to healing folks, and sometimes that doesn’t mean just dislocated shoulders.

“Course you are,” he says. “Didn’t mean anything by it. Sorry for grabbing hold of you. Maybe I could buy you a drink, make up for it.”

Now Ezra’s searching his face, probably looking for some angle on Nathan’s part, but Nathan was telling the honest truth. He is sorry. When he saw Ezra, because it was Ezra, Nathan’s first instinct was to poke at him a little. And if he accidentally hit an open wound, well, it’s his duty to do something to make up for it.

“All right,” says Ezra finally, “perhaps I could use some of our fine local establishment’s liquor. Lead on, Mister Jackson.”

So they go to the saloon, and Nathan buys the drinks, and they sit at the bar—the first time, Nathan realizes, that he and Ezra have sat together here, without any of the others around.

Because, well, Nathan doesn’t like Ezra. And he’s not so sure how Ezra feels about him, either.

“Good thing Chris and Vin found Billy all right,” says Nathan, after Ezra’s downed his shot. “Although that boy’s had quite a scare. If I get my hands on the man who’d do that to a little kid…”

“I wholeheartedly agree,” says Ezra, and he looks like he means it for once. “Bartender, another for myself, thank you.” And before Nathan can say anything, “And although your generosity is appreciated, I will certainly be paying for any further drinks myself.”

Nathan shrugs. “Okay. Long as you don’t mind if I keep sitting here.”

“By all means,” says Ezra with a sweep of his arm.

Nathan’s quiet for a second, but pretty soon he can’t help himself any longer, and he says, “Why do you do that?”

“Why do I do what?” Ezra pauses with his second shot still in his hand.

“Act like that. With the big words and the pretty hand motions. There’s got to be _some_ reason to act so fancy you can dress up as a girl and no one’s the wiser.” Which Nathan _still_ laughs about, whenever someone mentions it.

“My friend,” says Ezra, and downs the shot, “it is all about the impression one gives. If one comes across to the general populace as someone of means, someone with manners, one is more likely to be respected, and—dare I suggest—trusted. The voice is a part of this, as are the looks, and of course the actions.”

Which is pretty much what he figured. “So it’s all about the angle.” He shakes his head.

“Perhaps. Of course,” and now Ezra’s looking thoughtful, “it may come down to the way one was raised. Would you say that Mister Tanner, for example, could wake up one morning and decide that it was his destiny to become the most loquacious resident of our pleasant town? That, perhaps, he ought to emulate myself, speak with, as you said, the big words and pretty hand motions?” Ezra tilts the empty shot glass at Nathan, eyebrows raised.

Nathan has to chuckle at the idea of Vin talking like Ezra. “All right, you’re making some sense. And it ain’t like we don’t know where you got it from, now.”

“Yes,” Ezra sighs, “much to my own mortification. I assure that the story about the dog—you’ve heard it? Of course you have—was made up from whole cloth.”

He laughs again, at that. “Your mother’s sure one of a kind.”

“Yes,” says Ezra, “much to her recent dismay.”

And now they’re back to it, to whatever he was riled about before. “So what do you mean by that?” Nathan asks, and when Ezra starts to stiffen up, “Come on, now. It’s obvious something’s bothering you.”

Ezra sighs. “It’s merely—I have decided that I enjoy living in this place, with these people, perhaps enough to make it a permanent residence. My mother, being—somewhat more of a…wanderer by nature, does not understand this notion. She made a suggestion to the…wandering effect, which I did not take kindly to, and we had words.” He tries a smile, but it doesn’t come out so well. “Nothing to be concerned about, I assure you, Mister Jackson.”

If Nathan understood that all right, it’s raising his respect for Ezra, no question. “So,” he says, “it ain’t _all_ about profit, then?”

Ezra goes still, one hand half-raised for the barkeep. “I’m afraid,” he says, “that I am not well-equipped to answer that question at the moment. Perhaps if you returned to me later, and posed it again.”

Which Nathan…almost understands. “All right,” he says, and gets up off the barstool. “Maybe after this mess with Billy is solved, I could buy you another drink.”

Ezra blinks at him. “Now, Mister Jackson, what possible reason would you have to do that?”

Nathan smiles. “Maybe I just want to do you a good turn.”

_end_


End file.
